


look for my smile

by isshun



Series: lex misérables [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Counselling & Therapy, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Past Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, kuroo and kenma struggle along the way but they make it through alright in the end, lots of tears. but also a lot of hope (i hope), suicide ideation, work burnout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28241079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isshun/pseuds/isshun
Summary: Kuroo, Kenma – the road to recovery is long and arduous, but they make it through in the end.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: lex misérables [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059251
Comments: 19
Kudos: 78
Collections: Recommended KuroKen Fics





	1. this is our last goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is not meant to be a guideline on how to deal with mental health. Please seek professional help if you ever find yourself in need of any form of support for mental health issues. 
> 
> Please read the tags for the full list of trigger warnings. Reader discretion is advised.

;

It starts, ironically, the day after Kuroo leaves for the states.

It is a quarter to five in the morning. Kenma is sitting alone in McDonald’s (open 24/7) across the office. It’s an ungodly hour to be out and about in public for someone who’s done with all the crap life has thrown his way. Kuroo had left for the airport the night before, leaving Kenma to stew alone at home to savour the last dregs of whatever warmth from whatever hug and kisses they last shared.

(There is the lingering touch of Kuroo’s large palm resting against his cheeks; the ghost of Kuroo’s lips pressed against his temple as they count the seconds they have left until the taxi arrives to pick Kuroo up to the airport.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Kuroo whispers, “take care of yourself, alright?”

Kenma stares back into dark brown irises. He sees the ghost of someone with a poor bleach job gazing back at himself sadly and resigns himself to continue trying to befriend the ghosts in his mind for the rest of his life.

Kuroo’s thumb caresses his cheek, concerned eyes searching his face for an affirmative answer to his earlier question, but Kenma wants to tell him that it’s pointless, that Kuroo should call off the search party, Kenma has long made peace that he will forever be haunted by the sadness and emptiness living in the hollow chambers of his heart, the ghosts of whatever happiness he once felt taken away by his own life itself.

Kenma doesn’t trust himself to speak, doesn’t trust himself to make promises he can’t keep, so he only reaches out to pull Kuroo closer, press their lips together, and hope that it’s an answer good enough to placate his partner for now.

After Kuroo leaves, Kenma closes the apartment door behind him. He turns around, crosses the genkan, and walks back into the silence of an empty apartment that greets him like an old friend.)

Back in McDonald’s, despite the quiet whirring of the ice-cream machine being the only sound audible in the near-empty restaurant, Kenma’s head is filled with a low-key buzz that carves itself a home at the back of his mind. They won’t leave him alone, these thoughts, filling up the crevices of his mind like cheap, low-grade cotton. Whatever haunts that have not been occupied by work-related thoughts are instantly filled with the unmistakable, mind-numbing undercurrent of anxiety.

Kenma sits in McDonald’s for as long as he can remember. Day breaks, the sun rises, the morning crowd trickles in to get their cheap coffee and then file out like ants scuttling to reach their next destination.

By the time he makes the trek to office, work has already started. For the first time in his four years of working at KRSN & Associates, Kenma is late. The phone calls are ringing in and the faint office chatter is an accompaniment to the tune of guilt and anxiety playing in his mind. Quietly, Kenma slinks past Yaku’s room, ducks his head to avoid catching anyone’s eyes as he closes the door of his own room behind him.

He locks himself in his room past lunch, drowning in stacks after stacks of legal paperwork, and doesn’t bother coming back out again for the rest of the day.

;

Of course, Kuroo, like the absolute sweetheart he is, checks in on him the moment he settles in at the hotel where he’s stuck in for the next few weeks. He is one of a few in the team of lawyers representing the JFBA on a friendly visit to the New York State Bar Association, his easygoing nature and sharp wit proving useful to foster good relations with stuffy attorneys in a foreign country.

The call comes during the evening, when Kenma is just about done marinating in his misery and about to call it quits for the day.

He schools his expression into something less miserable, clears his throat, and picks up the phone on the fifth ring.

_“Hey.”_ Kuroo’s voice is warm, tinged with affection, and the unrelenting anxiety storming in Kenma’s chest subsides a little.

“Kuro.” He breathes. It’s his first real word of the day.

Kuroo tells him about his day, complains about the fuck ups the airport bagage team made with his luggage at JFK, and confesses the homesickness and nostalgia he feels because he’s stuck in a city with a population large enough to rival Tokyo yet feel so foreign at the same time.

_“I can’t wait to come home to you.”_ Kuroo whines, on his first day of visiting New York, two days before the month-long meet and greet even starts.

“You’re stuck there for another few weeks, you know.”

_“I know. Sometimes I don’t even know why I agreed to this. The JFBA must’ve really been desperate to pick me for this stupid conference. I honestly couldn’t care less about building good relations with other state bars.”_ He huffs, _“I could be home now, having dinner with you, watching you try to wrestle your way out of doing the dishes–”_

“Kuro, stop dissing the JFBA. It’ll be good for your career and you know it.”

Kuroo is silent. Kenma pictures it, clear as day in his mind – Kuroo is sitting by the plush bed in the suite that the JFBA graciously booked for him (rising star attorney in the Public Interest & Criminal Defence field and all that jazz). Kuroo is probably staring out of the large windows overlooking the New York skyline at this moment, mouth set into a grim line the way it does every time he wants to disagree with Kenma on something important.

After a long pause of silence, Kuroo finally speaks, voice quiet and laced with a tinge of wistfulness that makes Kenma’s heart ache.

_“You’re right. I’m sorry, Kenma.”_ He sighs, _“I just– I’m exhausted, and I miss you, terribly. I hate that you’re not here with me, that we couldn’t take time off to visit New York together, that I can’t bring someone I love along for something that I’ve been looking forward to for a long time. I hate that you’re alone over there at home and I’m not there to take care of you. I know these few weeks have been rough on you. I’m just worried about you, Kenma.”_

_Don’t be,_ Kenma wants to assure him, but no words will come. These empty promises are stuck in his throat, even when Kenma needs them the most, but life for Kenma has been one failure after the other, so what else is new?

“Just enjoy yourself there. You’ll be home soon.” is what he finally settles on telling Kuroo. It’s the truth. He’s not lying to anyone. Kuroo will be home in a few weeks and Kenma can go back to pretending that his emotions aren’t putting him on a unsalvageable train wreck to the end of the universe.

After all, it’s only a few weeks, what could possibly go wrong?

;

Everything, is what the universe tells him the next day when he wakes up from a restless night of sleep, heart weighing like lead sinking down to the ocean bed.

From the moment his eyes peel open to the bare ceiling of his bedroom, to the way the rush hour crowd jostles him all over the train, to the daunting office building housing his second home on a random street in the middle of Tokyo’s central business districts towering over his pitiful self–

Kenma stands before the glass doors leading to the bustling lobby, and stares up at all 60 floors of glass windows the skyscraper has to offer. Maybe if he tilts his head further enough, he can hold his head high enough that the anxiety and emptiness won’t drown him down under for the day. But the feeling still stays, persists to haunt him, even when Hinata bounces to his side and drags him into the building to escape the frosty air of Tokyo winter.

Hinata’s lips move at the speed of light. They are red and cracked from the bitter cold. Kenma only blinks owlishly in response. Nothing that their newest intern told him has registered itself in his dysfunctional brain. The default mode of operation for one Kozume Kenma today is surviving on autopilot and nothing anyone does will snap him out of this state for the many days to come.

The world may have stopped spinning for Kozume Kenma, but it continues to rotate on its axis for the rest of the society.

Hinata leaves him trapped in a world painted in monotonous shades of grey. The more Kenma tries to find colour and meaning to all the shades of grey he’s left with, the deeper he gets lost in the maze, with no exit in sight despite the hours, the _years_ he’s spent trying to navigate through the rocky pathways to recovery.

When Kenma takes a seat before his computer, he boots up the damned thing and pulls up the 30-page written submission he’s assigned to complete by tomorrow (and isn’t even halfway done yet). He’s greeted by blank pages one after the other, barren landscape waiting for his brain to come up with workable legal solutions and rescue his client out of prison. The cursor blinks back at his dead soul, taunting him with each and every passing second that he’s lost to the deadline looming over his shoulder.

Lost, Kenma flips through precedents in hopes that he will get somewhere, _anywhere,_ away from this sinking quicksand.

He doesn’t. His mind takes one look at sheets of white completely obliterated under rows and rows of microscopic print, drags him down under, and abandons him in the sinking shipwreck until he’s drowning under the unforgiving tide.

The dam trapped beneath his ribcage breaks, spills like tainted oil all over the sea of misery he’s drowning in, and Kenma promptly bursts into tears.

;

_“Hey.”_ Kuroo’s voice, soft despite static interference poking holes into the comfort it’s supposed to bring, barely registers in the void of Kenma’s exhausted mind.

He’s in post-breakdown mode now, consciousness having decided to extend its vacation and leave him reaching into thin air blindly like a lost baby unsure of its own limbs. The exhaustion after an intense (but quiet) sobfest is real, Kenma has stopped trying to curl into himself, resisted the urge to reach out for the penknife lying innocently somewhere in his pencil holder, and is instead hugging his knees, forehead rested in the crevice between his knobbly knees and letting the static in his brain run its course until there’s no more left to torment himself with.

Kenma doesn’t dignify Kuroo with a response. He knows that Kuroo must have heard from Yaku that his useless self had been sniffling and trying to contain the gasps for air amidst each broken sob within the four (thin) walls of his room, hence the call all the way from New York despite the abysmal difference in timezones.

What else is there to say, if Kenma has nothing left that he can offer to appease his partner’s concerns?

_“Kenma, you there?”_

Kenma closes his eyes.

_“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”_

Kenma shakes his head, even though Kuroo is not here to see it.

_“I’m sorry you’re feeling like this.”_

Kenma laughs wetly, a hollow echo of what his laughter used to be (what he remembers it to be, at least).

“I’m sorry too.” He croaks.

_For putting you in this spot, for making you feel like you have to babysit me, for having to care and love me even though I am so unlovable like this._

If Kenma could stop this, he would be able to set Kuroo free. This love they share is nothing but a heavy burden Kuroo never needed to bear if only Kenma could love him back properly, and shower him with all the attention and affection he rightfully deserves, the intimacy Kuroo desires but Kenma is unable to give. But Kenma is nothing if not selfish, and still longs for the soft touches and gentle words Kuroo still offers his way despite the misery of it all.

_“Tell me how I can make it better, Kenma. I love you, but you have to talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what should I do to take away the pain you’re feeling.”_

Oh, if only Kenma knew too.

;

It’s three a.m.

Kenma is not in bed. He’s not even home.

Instead, he winds up at Nihonbashi bridge, right in the middle of the unforgiving chill of winter. The stone bricks are rough beneath his palms as he heaves himself to sit by the ledge, feet dangling midair as the Nihonbashi River continues to flow beneath him, slow and steady.

The neighbourhood is quiet, dark. Nobody is around to witness Kenma sigh into the air, sad empty eyes staring blankly into the distance.

Today, tonight, his heart is breaking into a million glass shards for no good reason again. He thought he was past this, that the sadness was gone for good since it disappeared weeks ago after the mind-numbing emptiness took its place.

And it kills him to realise that this sadness is here to stay, to always tell him that he will never be good enough, that the days he could function like a normal human being have sped past him for good, out of reach, and that he’s lost the ability to be happy again.

High school seemed like eons ago. The days he would walk home with Kuroo by his side, reacting and smiling and frowning at anything and everything his childhood friend had to say – Kenma misses those days terribly. He tries and tries and tries desperately to figure out which part of his life went wrong, tries to recall the moment his life took a turn for the worse, and the exact morning he woke up feeling like someone poured wet concrete all over his weary soul.

He keeps telling himself if he finds it, he can fix this. He can get better. He can go back to the good old days where he bickers with Kuroo over who gets the last gummy bear in the packet, the good old days where Kuroo wasn’t constantly thinking about ways to make him feel better, the good old days where he always made Kuroo happy and carefree because they didn’t have to tread carefully around Kenma’s non-existent depression then.

The path leading up to this point has been harsh and unforgiving. Life has robbed him of so many moments he could’ve been happy, both on his own or with his friends, with Kuroo. Kenma hates to think what other unpleasant surprises it has in store left for him for as long as he breathes.

It’s exhausting to live. Surviving takes such a heavy toll on him that sometimes, Kenma thinks it’s really easier to just lie in bed and not get up at all. Why fight a losing battle especially when in the end it’s all for naught?

He’s gone numb from the cold. He’s not dressed for winter. But Kenma can’t find it in himself to make rational decisions now, even though he knows he will regret it immensely when dawn comes and he’s down with a cold. He knows that the better option would be to get off the ledge, turn around and begin the journey home, where the bills are paid and the heater’s running perfectly because Kuroo remembered to set it up for him before he left for the States. Hell, the correct option would’ve been to never even leave the house at three fucking a.m. on a weekday at single-digit temperatures, but depression and anxiety has made him into a totally different person he never thought he’d be, so at the end of the day, Kenma still doesn’t know why he’s ended up here instead.

From a restless night of tossing and turning in bed for two hours straight, his feet have subconsciously dragged him out of the house, Kuroo’s oversized sweater doing nothing to shield him from the bitter cold (nor the unforgiving recesses of his mind) as he makes his way to Nihonbashi to sit on a bridge and be done with life.

He doesn’t even register the tears rolling down his cheeks until he looks down and notices the hem of Kuroo’s sweater stained with drops of a darker shade of red.

Kenma sighs quietly into the night, utterly defeated.

He is so, so tired.

Slowly, he closes his eyes, clutches his phone in his hands, and counts the seconds it would take for all this pain to finally come to an end.

;

He sends the email out on a Friday night, where Kuroo is six thousand and seven hundred miles away from him.

He can’t bear to call Kuroo to hear his voice, even though he knows Kuroo would pick up immediately after the first ring.

Kuroo loves him so, and Kenma can’t bear to continue hurting him with his problems. He can’t live with this burden for the rest of his life, his love for Kuroo won’t let him.

He will bury the days Kuroo has to tread carefully around him, he will make sure that the days where Kuroo sighs in defeat just because Kenma got lost in his own head will go away. He is sick of seeing the pity and sadness reflected off tired brown irises.

Even if it takes all his soul and being to make everything better again, for Kuroo, _for himself_ , Kenma will see to it that he beats his depression and anxiety with a stick, or die trying.

;

_On Sat, Dec 7, 2019 at 8:05 AM, Takeda Ittetsu <takeda@tcs.com> wrote:_

> _Dear Kozume-san,_
> 
> _I would be happy to meet you for a session next Saturday noon, to better understand what you are experiencing. We can discuss the charges after the session and work something out then._
> 
> _I am attaching the intake form and general informed consent form for your perusal. Please bring the completed forms on the day we meet._
> 
> _Thank you and see you then._
> 
> _Warm regards,_   
>  _Takeda Ittetsu_   
>  _Licensed counsellor_   
>  _Takeda Counselling Services Ltd_


	2. look for my smile

The truth about depression: a canvas that paints itself in Kenma’s mind that eventually bleeds into reality, and what Kuroo comes home to.

An apartment, four walls. A hamper of full of laundry spilling out onto the floor, unwashed and undone. Books strewn all across the floor, stacks of papers piled along the bare walls and left to gather dust until the end of time. The trash can is surprisingly empty and clean for a house that’s been occupied for two weeks, but Kuroo knows better. The container of saltine crackers was full before he left for the States, and now two weeks later, a quarter of it is gone.

Kuroo sighs. The ache in his heart returns, and stings tenfold when he opens the bedroom door and sees a human-shaped lump buried underneath the blanket on a sunny Saturday morning.

The truth about depression: through the perspective of one Kuroo Tetsurou – it is so painful, so very painful to see your loved ones suffering when there’s nothing you can do about it.

“I’m home.”

In the deafening silence, no matter how softly he speaks or treads over to the bed, the volume of his words and footsteps will always be a reminder that while two people occupy the space within this household, there is only one person who actually lives in it.

Gently, he pulls the covers back so that Kenma will remember he actually needs fresh air to breathe. Dull, amber eyes stare back into his own brown ones, as blank as the white fleet of snow falling outside of their home. The only difference is this: Kuroo knows for a fact that snow will melt, spring will come, and the world will be born anew; but the blank state Kenma is trapped in? Is there even an exit that will lead him out of the dark and back into the good old days they once shared five, ten summers ago?

“Hey, how long have you been here?”

Amber eyes look away. Kuroo is well-versed in Kenma-speak to know that his partner has been in bed far too long than it is good for him.

The truth about depression: it is not about the tears, not about beautiful sadness or poetic angst that grows a garden in your backyard. It is instead days of going by without showering, hours of lying in bed without any energy to pull yourself together to even brush your teeth, or take in food until the gastric pain in your stomach overtakes the pain in your heart and you’re forced to binge-eat food to quell the pain, and deal with the nausea of overeating later on.

Kuroo sighs quietly. He slides an arm underneath thin shoulders and heaves his partner up into a sitting position.

“Alright, c’mon sweetheart, up you go. I’m ordering take-out and you are going to eat something that’s not from the cookie jar in our kitchen. You okay with chinese food?”

_Okay,_ Kenma nods against his shoulder. Cold hands cling onto the fabric of his suit, clutching the linen like a lifeline, reluctant to let go.

_“I’m sorry.”_ Their owner tells him.

In the dim, stuffy bedroom they share, Kuroo has heard the same apology uttered quietly far too many times. Every time, they pierce his heart and shove a rock down his pipeline until it is so difficult for him to breathe.

He can only imagine how it’s like for Kenma, and the pain the comes along with the helplessness he feels every time Kenma’s own mind takes a trip down memory lane to depression and takes Kenma away from the clutches of reality, away from him.

“Don’t be.” Is all Kuroo can say before leading him to the showers and hope that the shower will at least wash some of the sadness away.

;

Takeda schedules Kenma for therapy once every two weeks.

Before Kuroo came home, it was easy for Kenma to plan his time, to lie in bed until one hour before his appointment, before he has to force himself to freshen up and take the train that would supposedly put him on the right track to recovery.

Takeda does not prescribe him pills (yet) to ease the weight behind his chest, but he does prescribe him homework and tells him the first step of dealing with anxiety, with depression, is to monitor his thoughts and write them down so that they can dissect them together in the next few sessions. Analyse the patterns, identify the triggers, and explore ways to develop healthier coping mechanisms for the future.

“You don’t have to write them down on paper, you could just jot them down in your phone if that’s what makes you comfortable,” Takeda smiles kindly before showing him out of the clinic on the first day of their session.

And so, for the first time in his life, Kenma does his homework voluntarily without further prompting from his childhood best friend.

Before Kuroo came home, it was easier to stick to the plan, to let his tears slip freely down the slope of his cheeks as his thumbs tap across his phone screen while he tries to pen his thoughts into words – the whats and whys of the emotions sweeping over him at that very moment.

(It is hard, confronting your inner demons and trying to form something intangible into existence. Drafting and content structure were never Kenma’s forte, it was always more of Akaashi’s strengths. The written submissions lying on each of their partner’s desk at KRSN would speak for itself.)

But now that Kuroo is home, 189 centimetres of flesh and blood constantly within his peripheral vision while they go about their daily lives, Kenma is reminded of the main reason he signed up for therapy in the first place. The pressure to appear normal and alright is back again to taunt him in the four corners of his mind. In trying to ease his partner’s worries over his wellbeing, Kenma has unknowingly taken on more pressure to paint an illusion over the footage of a stinking, rotting corpse.

He’s going for therapy, so he should be getting better, right? He should be able to deal with the storms in his head instead of relying on Kuroo to provide comfort like before, right?

So far, Kuroo has not caught on to anything out of the ordinary, too busy with catching up on the pile of work that’s accumulated on his desk over the many weeks of his absence. There are briefs to finetune and perfect, copious amounts of research content to sift through, and interns (see: Lev) to frown at, so Kuroo has been preoccupied with keeping the criminal litigation department running smoothly.

It’s stupid, Kenma thinks, that he has to hide something like this from his childhood best friend, _his partner,_ when they’ve never kept secrets from each other before this. It’s stupid and the stress of keeping everything to seem normal is contributing to his anxiety in addition to the pile of work he has to complete, yet Kenma just can’t bring himself to sit the both of them down and come clean.

_I’m seeing a therapist, _simple words, yet like always, Kenma’s mind goes into overdrive and blocks them from escaping his lungs before he could even flag Kuroo’s attention for a long overdue chat.__

It feels odd. They are Kuroo and Kenma, two people known in the office for always being on the same page with one another. In the past, all it took was just one glance, one slant of the corner of their lips, and they would know what the other wanted to say.

“What are you afraid of?” Takeda asks patiently the next time Kenma visits and spills his anxiety out on the floor for the counsellor to sweep away.

“I don’t know.”

He’s here on a cold Saturday afternoon without Kuroo knowing, because the latter is back in the office clearing up the backlog of work on his desk. It’s easy to slip out of the apartment and take the train across the CBD to Minato-ku, where a quiet, unassuming office awaits his arrival.

Kuroo has never judged him for the emotional baggage he brings along with him in their relationship. In fact, he has been very supportive, more attentive and far more forgiving than Kenma ever deserves. Caring for someone with depression and anxiety is a constant uphill battle that Kuroo has fought (is fighting) admirably, and Kenma feels ashamed that he’s hiding here in the four walls of his therapist’s office instead of confronting his worries head on and bulldozing through them like a champ.

“Therapy isn’t a sign of weakness, Kenma-kun. You aren’t running away. I am here to help you realize that.”

But it is so frightening. To tell Kuroo he’s seeking therapy would be to also tell him that he’s once sat on Nihonbashi bridge at three a.m in the morning, ready to give up and let go of everything in this world, including their relationship, without the intention of ever letting Kuroo know. The fleeting afterthought that Kuroo could possibly come home to the funeral of his beloved, a cold corpse instead of a living, breathing person, momentarily stuns Kenma into silence.

Kuroo worries so much over him that Kenma would hate to see the devastation colouring his face when he ultimately finds out.

“It’s so stupid,” Kenma closes his eyes, resigning himself to making friends with the familiar ache in his chest, “I want to tell him everything, yet I don’t want to.”

Takeda purses his lips, concerned gaze fixated on the heavy slope of Kenma’s shoulders curling inwards on themselves.

“You will have to tell him at some point. It sounds to me from what you’ve told me that Kuroo-san would definitely prefer to know what was going on with you while he was gone. It would be best to have a companion with you on this journey to be better, don’t you think?”

“But I want to be better, for him, so that he doesn’t have to burden himself further in taking care of me anymore. Telling him would defeat the purpose of me being here in the first place.”

“Two things, Kenma-kun,” Takeda straightens his back and addresses him firmly, “you are here to get better at dealing with your depression and anxiety, for your own sake too even if Kuroo-san is the main reason you are here today.”

Kenma sighs. Without waiting for an answer, Takeda continues on.

“And maybe you should ask Kuroo-san whether he’s ever thought that taking care of you is a burden to him.”

This, Kenma responds, almost immediately. “Kuro would never admit that, even if it’s true. He cares too much of our relationship to admit that.”

Takeda stares at him. Kenma stares back. The first to look away would be the loser, and Kenma has never conceded defeat in a staring showdown.

But apparently, so has Takeda.

In the end, Kenma leaves Takeda’s office with a list of pros and cons of spilling the beans to his partner, and a promise to work on developing a healthy communication in his relationship with Kuroo. In the face of a grim reality staring back at him, Kenma’s not sure if he has the faith to see things through.

;

“Where did you go?” Kuroo is leaning against the wall by the genkan, arms crossed in front of his chest, when Kenma arrives home later that afternoon.

_You weren’t home when I came back,_ is what Kuroo actually wants to say, Kenma can hear the unspoken words behind the question directed at him.

Kuroo’s face is one filled with genuine curiousity and concern, because in all of their lives, Kenma has never voluntarily left the house without much needling from Kuroo. This marks the first time in recent years since Kenma has gone out without letting Kuroo know where he’s headed for. And because of that, Kenma can’t help but look away guiltily as he toes off his shoes and makes his way past Kuroo into the living room. Kuroo paddles after him, in pursuit of an answer.

_I have to tell him, I have to tell him, I have to tell him–_

“There was a new game out in stores today, I went to check it out.”

“Ah! Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve gone together, and you wouldn’t have to go alone.”

If Kuroo notices the shifty behaviour he’s currently displaying, and his reluctance to meet his curious eyes, Kenma is only glad his perceptive boyfriend doesn’t point it out and lets it go this time.

;

It gets worse. It _feels_ worse, because despite spending his money and attending therapy in hopes to get better, the bad times hit him with even more devastating, destructive effects out of nowhere.

Takeda once told him that life is a cycle of good and bad times, ups and downs, that you can’t expect the bad times to magically disappear into thin air like they never existed in the first place. There will always be bad times to follow after the good ones, and telling himself “it will pass it will pass it will pass” like a mantra only works the first or second time his anxiety hits him like a train wreck on an exploding train track.

For the past few sessions, they’ve been working on utilizing specific thoughts to deal with Kenma’s anxiety.

_What is one positive thing that I can gather from this bad experience? On a scale of one to ten, what’s the possibility that the worst case scenario could happen? Is it realistic? Will the worst case scenario actually happen?_

They keep the anxiety at bay, pull him through the day while he slogs through the fatigue to get the bare minimum amount of work done.

But it isn’t everything. He still wakes up in the middle of the night, mind wandering to the pile of files waiting for him on his desk, conscious of the time ticking away to the last day he has to file the papers in court. At this point, Kenma knows it’s pointless to wrestle his own mind back to sleep. Once his mind goes into overdrive, it won’t stop until it wrings itself dry and depletes all of his energy to survive the next day.

“Kenma?” Kuroo blinks sleepily, eyes squinting in the dark against the blue light emitting from Kenma’s phone.

“S’fine, Kuro, go back to sleep.”

“Can’t sleep?”

Kenma sighs quietly, “Yeah. Sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be.” Kuroo sits up and turns on the night lamp by the bed.

“Kuro… we have work in a few hours. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s okay, I don’t have to be in court today. What are you watching? Let me see too.”

Since then, Kenma has learned to stop looking at his phone during the sleepless nights in fear of waking Kuroo up, no matter how unbearably slow time seems to pass. Sometimes, he falls back into a restless sleep until he’s woken up by Kuroo’s warm fingers gently carding through his bleached locks, apologetic smile perched on his lips. Other times, he lies in bed, painfully awake as he listens to the soft breaths coming out of his partner’s lips beside him. They do nothing to soothe him back into slumber, mind still running into overdrive until day breaks and it’s time to prepare for work again.

;

There is an unsettling kind of disconnect wedged between them ever since Kuroo came back from his trip to the States. The bond they share no longer feels as comforting as it once felt to be, and by the time Kenma has noticed the state of their relationship, it is too late for him to climb out of the dread he’s sunken into.

They don’t address it. Kenma continues avoiding talking about it like the plague, willing to rather binge on his misery until it makes him so nauseated that he just drops his head against messy sheets of paper on his work desk one morning, losing the will to complete any semblance of work for the day.

It’s just a representation piece to the Attorney General’s Chambers – a simple file with the deadline still some days ahead. Yaku had handed him the file a few days ago because the senior associate couldn’t stand looking at Lev’s shitty drafting and spelling errors for any second longer without blowing his top, so in the end, Kenma is stuck with cleaning up whatever mess their resident intern left behind.

With a heavy sigh, Kenma gathers the documents into the file and drops the folder onto a tall stack of thick files by his chair. He’ll deal with cracking his brains for a sob story to the AGC later when his mind stops being a dick and remembers how to function properly again.

When he’s finally managed to draft a skeletal brief for another file, his thoughts start to wander again, diving deep into that endless vortex that has the lingering ache in Kenma’s chest bloom ten times heavier than it has ever been for the past few weeks. They flit from one anxious thought to another in the crevices of his mind, randomly in no sequential order, spinning and spiralling until the office chatter outside of his room fades away into white noise.

He’s falling, unable to breathe, drowning–

“Kenma.” Someone calls his name. He jumps, startled by the sudden disturbance.

It’s Kuroo, standing by the doorway, balancing a tower of reference books in his arms. The first book is threatening to fall from the stack, but Kuroo pays it no mind. Instead, his gaze is focused on Kenma, hints of concern reflected behind dark brown eyes.

“You okay?” He asks. “You’ve been spacing out for a while.”

“Oh.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything after that, unsure of what to say to placate Kuroo and his worries. A simple “I’m fine” would never work, not with Kuroo.

In a distance, someone calls Kuroo’s name, probably Oikawa to discuss the board meeting taking place tomorrow.

“You should go.” Kenma says quietly.

It’s only when Oikawa parrots loudly for the third time for their missing partner that Kuroo leaves, though not without a worried glance directed at Kenma as he makes his way to the conference room, ready to stuff a sock in Oikawa’s mouth.

Kenma knows that Kuroo’s giving him the space to sort things out in his head. His partner is considerate and respectful like that, and they both share the mutual understanding that they each have their own right to privacy despite sharing almost every moment in life together since they were kids.

But Kuroo isn’t stupid. Kuroo is attentive enough to have caught on Kenma’s jumpy demeanour once Saturday comes around every two weeks. He raises an eyebrow when Kenma makes up lame excuses on the spot on why he’s been sneaking out lately, though Kenma resents that phrase a little because honestly, he can’t be sneaking out of his own house when this apartment belongs to him as much as it belongs to Kuroo.

“Somehow, I kind of get the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me. Like there’s something I should know of, but you’re not telling me.” Kuroo frowns.

“Sorry,” Kenma mutters, “I just… kind of need some time alone. It’s just something that I have to do.”

Kuroo’s hard gaze softens. He purses his lips, conflicted as to whether he should press on. But in the end, the guilty vibes radiating off Kenma in waves is probably contagious enough to melt away Kuroo’s persistence and make him drop the subject (for now).

“Okay. But tell me if you need any help, alright? I worry about you.”

“Sorry.”

Kuroo only shakes his head and pulls him in for a quick hug before he nudges Kenma out of the door, waving goodbye.

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, “you never have to be, not with me.”

;

_Recovery takes time,_ Takeda reminds him after every session. The journey to living a life where one’s depression and anxiety is somewhat manageable is a long and arduous one, but Takeda is there to guide him through the breathing exercises and meditation sessions along the way.

He’s forging a new path in the dark, fumbling through the hedges and trying to avoid getting scraped by wayward tree branches (to no avail), but it is progress nonetheless. Moving one’s feet against the unforgiving tide takes courage, and Takeda constantly reminds him that Kenma will be able to find it in him to move forward, to stop faltering as long as he wants to get better.

Kenma lets himself believe that.

He lets himself feel, accepting the periodic bouts of melancholy that washes over him from time to time. He tells himself it’s okay to be sad, to self-examine his thoughts once he’s accepted how he feels and slowly work out a solution to find a way out of the slump he’s fallen into.

Kuroo continues to give him space too, never pressing for details whenever Kenma unconsciously clenches his fists to struggle his way out of the unforgiving crevices of his mind. Maybe Kuroo has resigned himself to a life of loving someone who’s not quite right in the head, Kenma wouldn’t know, and stops himself from thinking about it any longer because he can’t bear to question the depth of Kuroo’s love for him.

And so, he goes with the flow. Today, Kuroo has taken the liberty of exercising his authority as head partner of the criminal litigation department and ordered the day off for the both of them.

“But my work–”

“Fukunaga can handle it for one day.”

Kenma can’t remember the last time he took a day off (as much as he is notorious in the firm for finding the most creative ways to slack off whenever he can). Kenma also can’t remember the last time he’s gotten a full eight hours of sleep without waking up once in the middle of the night. The morning on his day off, on a rare sunny Friday morning with sunbeams filtering through the curtains into their shared bedroom, Kenma wakes up with Kuroo’s arm draped lazily across his waist. The weight of it comforts him, settles his nerves, and the buzz in his mind fades away into blissful silence when Kuroo pulls him in closer for a hug.

It feels right to lie in bed and cuddle with his partner for warmth at the peak season of Tokyo winter. No morning rush hour to beat, long weekend ahead, Kenma can’t remember a time he’s felt this at peace with himself over the past few years.

Kuroo suggests ordering in for brunch, and deposits his phone into Kenma’s empty hands for the latter to browse through the menu he’s pulled up from the restaurant’s website. Kenma watches him shuffle sleepily out of the room to start the coffee machine, fond smile still perched on his lips when he turns his attention back to Kuroo’s phone.

An accidental tap on a random corner of Kuroo’s phone screen sends Kenma stumbling across his boyfriend’s browsing history. There are no secrets between Kuroo and Kenma, but the latter isn’t above putting his nose into his boyfriend’s private affairs without asking him first. Kenma’s about to exit the page and return to the brunch menu when he notices certain familiar keywords that used to appear on his own internet history too.

_How to help a loved one with **depression**_   
_How to make someone with depression happy_   
_How to be a better partner to my s/o who has **anxiety** and **depression**_

If Kuroo notices the shock in Kenma’s features when he returns, Kenma is only grateful he doesn’t mention it at all.

Brunch is a quiet affair. Kenma sits at the kitchen table, ankles crossed with Kuroo’s under the table as he continues to stew in quiet revelation and wonder at the lengths his partner has gone to make him feel better, despite probably feeling as lost as Kenma is on dealing with depression and anxiety.

This feeling of being loved, being cherished so dearly – it sits right between the space of Kenma’s ribcage, nestled closely against his heart. The kindle of warmth in his chest burns a little brighter, continues to keep the buzz in his mind at bay even after lunch time, where they’ve tucked themselves comfortably in the couch, knees pressed together as Kuroo picks out a nature documentary of all things from the wide selection of shows they have on Netflix to watch.

Kenma knows it’s for his sake. Kuroo could have picked any show that he likes, (unrealistic) legal dramas, law and enforcement TV programs, but no, instead he chooses to sit through a two-hour long nature documentary on vast blue seas and the dark endless cosmos, because Reddit told him it would be good for them to watch something calming to soothe Kenma’s mind.

He watches on, lulled into calmness and a sense of security in the quietude of the afternoon. His head rests comfortably on Kuroo’s broad shoulders, body loose and relaxed and leaning his entire weight against Kuroo’s taller frame while the latter wraps an arm around his waist, thumbs stroking comforting circles into the soft flesh above his hipbones.

Kenma sees deep blue seas and tidal waves pouring across the ocean bed, but he can’t hear a single word that comes tumbling out of the narrator’s lips on the TV. All he hears is the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, resonating and syncing with Kuroo’s, calm and steady.

He’s falling, but slowly, weightlessly, effortlessly, mesmerized by this rare sense of tranquility washing over his soul. It feels so good, so right to just sit on the couch and let himself have this one good day, worries and anxieties pushed to a far corner of his mind where he can barely identify them for what they usually are on a normal day.

He can have this. He is worthy of this moment, this love and care.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t hesitate to lift his head and press his lips against Kuroo’s jaw, to untangle their fingers and let his hand wander across Kuroo’s cheekbones, fingers drifting along Kuroo’s jawline in featherlight touches. Kuroo hums, surprised but pleased. He shifts around and reaches out to cradle Kenma’s face tenderly in his warm hands. The smile they share is impossibly fond and gentle. It’s the last thing Kenma sees before Kuroo leans forward to kiss him properly in the soft glow of the afternoon sun.

He can have this. A soft brush of the lips making way for open-mouthed kisses, a quiet gasp escaping from his lips when Kuroo maneuvers them so that Kenma is sitting on his lap, chest to chest – he can provide Kuroo the intimacy he knows his partner needs and today has proven that this fact still holds true to this very day. There is no discomfort creeping up his skin when Kuroo’s body starts to respond with growing interest against Kenma’s very own, no alarms blaring in his head when Kuroo’s palm slides under his shirt to trace the hemline of his sweatpants against his hips.

_Connected,_ is the word that fleetingly flutters through Kenma’s mind while Kuroo grazes his teeth tenderly against Kenma’s lips, grinning into the kiss when Kenma lets out a gasp amidst the unmistakable sound of quiet, breathless moans bouncing off the walls of their apartment in distant echoes. The past few weeks of disconnect and awkwardness fade into nothing, as if it never existed in the first place. Here is a boy, a man, ready to offer his heart and soul to Kenma, and Kenma must respond in kind; he desperately wants to.

There are no secrets between Kuroo and Kenma, childhood best friends turned sweethearts who understand each other perfectly and are always attuned to each other’s thoughts. There is no path in this universe where they have not explored together. Soulmates, falling together hand in hand. He is safe here, he can tell his partner everything and trust that everything will turn out fine.

“Kuro–” He tries.

His heartbeat is racing now, breath picking up as Kuroo pulls away to regard him with utter devotion in his warm, brown eyes.

“Yes, Kenma?”

Kenma closes his eyes, breathes, remembers the comforting weight of Kuroo’s hand on top of his grounding him to this moment, everything will turn out fine, everything will–

And then the phone rings.

;

Everything is not fine.

It’s Yaku on the line, firing away his words in rapid succession as Kuroo listens to him describe the predicament they’ve landed in for a case that the senior associate has been preparing for trial for the past few months.

Kuroo’s expression of annoyance morphs slowly into confusion, and then disbelief when he turns to regard Kenma with serious eyes.

Kenma feels the dread flooding back through his blood, anxiety creeping back to overtake his mind as it drains all semblance of peace he possessed, just a mere fifteen minutes ago, down a mental gutter.

“Kenma,” Kuroo asks him, “did you submit the representation for Kogami’s case to the AGC?”

The memory of a file sitting in a pile by his chair flashes briefly across his mind. The dread settles into lead in his stomach. Kenma feels like he could vomit all over the room any time this instant.

“I thought the deadline was next week?” He barely manages to respond weakly.

Kuroo sighs.

“No, the deadline’s today. Yaku called to follow up, and the AGC is threatening to maintain the murder charges if we don’t get the representation sheet in by four p.m today.”

Kenma whips his head around to look at the clock. It’s half past three already.

They will never make it in time.

The last remains of tranquility left in Kenma’s soul bursts, explodes, and the unmistakable look of disappointment in Kuroo’s eyes is what nails Kenma’s coffin shut.

The anxiety swallows him whole, and suddenly Kenma is back drowning in a sea of misery and pain.

It’s as if he never left at all.

;

That weekend, Kenma has no appointment with Takeda, but he never comes home. The anxiety coursing through his veins pushes him to camp out in office all weekend, churning out work after work and clearing up the backlog of files that was left to gather dust at the corner of his room.

Kuroo accompanies him to work, tries to coax him into taking breaks, but Kenma only shakes his head slightly and goes back to looking through lines and lines of microscopic texts in journal reports pulled from hours of painstaking research.

Kenma doesn’t speak to Kuroo unless absolutely necessary. The shame and guilt has already overwhelmed him all the way to hell, and there’s no way Kenma could survive another round of disappointment from the person he cares for the most in this whole universe.

“Kenma, it’s a Sunday.” Kuroo sighs. “You’ve been here since early morning and it’s almost five now. Let’s go back. Work can wait until tomorrow morning.”

_Work can’t wait, Kogami’s case has proven so,_ Kenma wants to say, but he quietly obliges and shuts down his PC, trailing behind Kuroo as they exit the main entrance.

Tomorrow, Yaku will march into office and demand to see him in his office, waiting for an explanation that Kenma knows he can’t offer. There is no excuse for overlooking a deadline. He’s not Lev or Hinata, interns who can still afford to fuck up and only scrape by with a stern talking to by the partner or associate in charge. Kenma may be Kuroo’s favourite, a fact that is an open secret within the company, and that may gain him some leeway with others, but this is Yaku they’re talking about. Yaku may have a soft spot for Kenma in his heart, but he’s equally brutal in dishing out lectures to anyone who makes inexcusable mistakes for his files, partners included.

“Hey, nobody blames you for the Kogami file, you know that right? These things happen sometimes.” Kuroo tries to hold his hand to comfort him, but Kenma can’t find it in him to respond positively to those empty words.

Even at night, when Kuroo holds him in his arms in a futile attempt to ground him to reality, sleep still eludes Kenma like the children lured away by the Pied Piper, never to return.

It continues on for days, nights. Exhaustion builds up in his bones, replacing the depleting energy in his soul until there’s no more gas in the engine to drive him to where he wants to go.

Some nights, he can’t sleep at all, mentally exhausted until he just can’t bear to listen to the bitter thoughts racing past his head anymore. He’s desperate for some peace and quiet in his mind and Kenma will be damned if he doesn’t get it tonight. So, he pads into the kitchen in search for a quick remedy to just force his body to rest. He goes through each cupboard until he finds what he’s looking for – a row of paracetamol pills sitting innocently by the first aid kit – and swallows two pills to knock himself out for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t always work. Some nights, he sleeps for a handful of hours before he’s awoken by the sheer magnitude of guilt and anxiety burning through his chest. There is so much work left in his office to be done, deadlines looming over his head, he can’t afford to fuck up like how he did with Kogami’s case again.

It escalates to a point where one night, in the middle of a fitful sleep, his eyelids suddenly fly open, shocked to consciousness by a nightmare he just had. In his dreams, Kogami has just been handed a life sentence and there’s no way to mitigate or plead his case anymore. The man is back at the office as a former client, a convict, and he’s hurling angry insults at Kenma in front of the entire staff for failing to submit a mitigation plea in time.

It’s just a dream, a bad dream, Kenma tells himself as he sits up, fingers clutching at his blanket in a deathgrip, trying to breathe until he’s choking on his own tears, sobbing uncontrollably until Kuroo startles awake and tries to soothe him back to sleep.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Big, warm hands rub against his back, rocking him back and forth while he sinks into the unforgiving crevices of his own mind.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–_

His sobs are quiet. But in the dead of the night, they sound just as loud as his thoughts are whenever he’s drowning in the unbearable pain of it all.

;

“Take the day off.” Kuroo orders him, come morning. “Or rather, take the whole week off.”

Kenma rubs his eyes, puffy and tired from all the tears he’s shed just hours ago. He’s in no state to argue with Kuroo about work, not after a nervous breakdown in the middle of the night, but it would be terribly irresponsible of him to just drop out of the surface of this earth without a proper handover of his current working files.

“I can’t. I still have files waiting for me at the office. Who’s going to handle my workload if I go on leave?”

Kuroo groans, fingers running through his messy hair in frustration. He disentangles himself from their embrace and throws the wardrobe doors open, flitting through his suits angrily as he randomly picks one out of the dozen to get ready for court.

“Someone else can pick up the slack. I don’t care. I’ll assign the cases to Fukunaga and Inuoka. They can handle a few extra files.”

“It’s not fair to them.”

Kuroo’s entire body whips around to stare at Kenma, quiet fury written all over his face. Kenma’s soul shrinks a little more inside. He’s never seen Kuroo this angry before, not towards him.

“It’s not fair to you either.” He snaps. “I’ve made up my mind. You need a break, Kenma, and you are going to get one before you run yourself to the ground. I won’t let you torture yourself over work, not anymore.”

“It’s not work, Kuro. It’s–”

_–disappointment. The fear of failure, of being judged, being left behind by the people I care about. By you._

But Kenma can’t tell him that now, can he? Not when Kuroo is slamming the bathroom door shut, refusing to listen to any explanation he tries to offer.

It’s exhausting. Fighting is so exhausting. Lately, his moods oscillate between heart-wrenching pain and mind-numbing emptiness so frequently that Kenma can feel the emotional whiplash taking a toll on his nerves. The hollow feeling in his chest is starting to fill up with heavy waves of anxiety again, and the tears he thought he was done shedding are starting to prickle behind his eyes again.

This is it, isn’t it?

His fears, no matter how much he tries to keep them buried beneath the ground – they still come back to haunt him and tell him that he will never be good enough. He’s fucked up too many times now. Kogami’s file had made him witness firsthand how his problems affect the relationship he shares with Kuroo.

His thoughts spill over to one cold night at Nihonbashi bridge. A moment where he could choose to have ended it all, but didn’t.

(He wishes he did. Sometimes. What is the point of living if you sleep through one nightmare, only to wake up to another?)

When he hears the shower stop, Kenma dries his tears with clumsy hands and curls into a ball of misery. He hides his face between the dip of his knees in shame and guilt. He wants to escape from this suffocating room, but his feet are paralyzed, body glued to the bed, and there’s nowhere left for him to run.

“Kenma.”

Kenma curls tighter towards himself. He doesn’t want to see Kuroo’s face of disappointment staring back at him. He can’t bear it.

“Kenma, look at me, please.”

The soft plea makes him raise his head. When the room comes into focus, all he sees is Kuroo’s dark brown eyes, slightly red around the edges, staring back at him sadly.

Kuroo cried. Kenma made him cry.

“Kuro–” His voice cracks, but Kuroo interrupts him before he could utter anything further.

“Take the day off. It’ll do you good.”

The last time Kenma had something good, it slipped away from his grasp like sand in just a few hours, turned into a bombshell and exploded into one ugly mess in his face.

And here they are, in the aftermath, battered and worn and exhausted from fighting, with no end in sight. How can Kenma ever want to go through that again?

“I can’t. If I don’t go to work, it’ll get worse. I can’t stay at home. I have to go to work.”

Kenma is close to begging at this point. He doesn’t know what will happen if he’s left alone at home, and he doesn’t want to find out. Not today.

Kuroo grimaces, closes his eyes in defeat. He runs a palm through his face and lets out a weary sigh. He looks as though he is Atlas, burdened with carrying the weight of the world, and Kenma is just as helpless in trying to ease the pain in his heart as much as he’s trying with his own.

“Take the morning off at least, would you? I’m telling Sawamura to kick you out if he sees you in the office before noon, or I swear to god I will do it myself when I’m back from court.”

;

On Saturday, Kenma’s miserable soul crawls back to Takeda’s office. He sits in a couch that feels much too big for a person like him. There’s too much space around him, so much that it feels like his depression and anxiety have manifested into shadows sitting beside him, telling him he’s never going to be good enough and things will never, ever get better.

He tells Takeda this much, and also the fact that he’s just left the house in a hurry without telling Kuroo where he’s gone. The atmosphere back home is stifling enough, the ghost of their disagreement ready to suffocate him any moment now.

It never stops. He closes his eyes and digs the heel of his palms into his eyes, willing himself not to cry any further.

When will it ever end? It never seems to.

The nightmares, the anxiety, the sleepless nights; will there ever come a day where he could find peace and quiet?

When will it stop?

_Will it ever stop?_

“Just why?” The tears staining his hands are hot, and there’s no one around him to wipe them away, “why does it hurt? Why am I so sad all the time? Every time the good times go away, the bad times feel worse. I’m so tired, so, so tired of all this.”

He is so tired of living, barely hanging on, that he cannot find the strength to continue walking down this path anymore.

At the end of the session, after he pays for his appointment, Kenma turns around and sinks into a chair by the reception. He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to face Kuroo who is definitely waiting for him back in their apartment, waiting for answers to questions he has yet to ask.

Kenma hates himself. He hates that despite all the love and affection he’s given, blessed with, he still behaves so selfishly, unable to pull himself out of the neverending ditch he’s fallen into.

He is this close to giving up again.

He honestly doesn’t know how much longer, how much strength he has left to go on.

;

“Kenma, let’s talk.”

Kenma has just arrived home. He was headed straight for the showers, head bowed and praying that Kuroo wouldn’t call out to him, but apparently the gods have long forsaken him that Kenma is shit out of luck today.

His feet come to a slow stop by the bedroom door. The hand hovering above the doorknob falls away, and very, very slowly, he turns to face his partner who is sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded before him and rested on the table.

The scene before him is a spitting image of what would take place in a board meeting full of difficult, evasive clients, where Kuroo sits prepared at the head of the table with Kenma by his side, game face on and ready to strike, ready to win.

Oh, how the tables have turned. The irony is not lost on him.

Kuroo clears his throat, and the corner of his lips lift in an attempt to reassure him (or tries to, at least). The smile does not reach his eyes.

“Come and sit, Kenma.” He pats the empty chair beside him.

Come and sit, Kenma does not. He stays rooted to the spot by the bedroom door, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. He hates confrontations, and hates it even more now that his partner is on the other end of the spectrum, looking at him like he’s the next witness on the stand, waiting to be grilled until a confession tumbles out of his lips for the court to hear.

Kenma’s not stupid, he already has an inkling of where Kuroo wants this conversation to go, and he is not ready to spill on what he’s been hiding all this while, no matter how irrational his fears and anxieties may be.

It’s so silly. To avoid being trapped in a lie, one has to jump over to the next sinking pool of misery and continue suffering.

When Kenma refuses to move, Kuroo begins the interrogation.

“Are you involved in some sort of crime?”

“No.”

“Blackmail?”

“No.”

“Drugs?”

“No.”

“You got caught stealing something?”

_“No.”_

“Then why aren’t you looking at me?”

There is no way out of this. When Kuroo starts, he finishes what he started whether they both like it or not. If there was a window within his reach at this very moment, Kenma would definitely rather jump out of the damned window and sustain a broken leg than to sit through this round of interrogation for Kuroo to wring all the answers out of him.

Kuroo sighs, stands up, and makes his way towards Kenma. The fight or flight response in Kenma is working itself into overdrive at this point, his nerves are frayed from therapy and nights of emotional breakdowns one after another, so when Kuroo reaches out to him, arms outstretched, Kenma can’t help but flinch and take a step back towards the wall.

By the time Kenma realizes what had happened, the damage is done.

Kuroo’s expression is filled with shock. It crumples into a brief flash of confusion and grief before he schools it back into one of concern.

“Kenma,” he says softly, “it’s just me.”

“I know,” small hands reach out to tuck bigger ones into their grasp. _I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to._

“Can we talk? Please?”

Who is Kenma to resist whatever Kuroo wants? Despite the dread pooling in his stomach and swallowing him whole, Kenma nods, the lump of sourness in his throat stopping the words from escaping his lips. It’s a good thing, in a way, because if he’s allowed to speak at that moment, Kenma really isn’t sure whether he could stop himself from breaking down there and then.

In the end, Kuroo leads him to the couch and sits next to him. Not once has he ever let go of Kenma’s hand.

Kenma wants to cry.

“I’m sorry for spooking you just now,” Kuroo says quietly.

“I’m sorry for reacting that way.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have handled it better.”

In the wake of their earlier confrontation, Kuroo’s thumb continues to stroke Kenma’s wrists, tracing patterns on invisible scars that have healed and disappeared under layers and layers of new-grown skin. The faint pulse beating underneath the thin, pale skin serves as a reminder of what they still have together, the last fraying thread of bond that still holds them together that makes them Kuroo and Kenma, childhood best friends turned sweethearts who ~~used to~~ still know each other and can read each other like an open book. Soulmates. Two puzzle pieces designed to fit together perfectly, meant for each other since the start of time.

“What’s going on with you lately?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kenma.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“You are.”

Kenma’s fingers clench into fists. He braces himself for the worst when Kuroo takes a deep breath and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I know you’re hiding something from me,” he starts, “something significant that’s been affecting you badly. You’ve been distant ever since I came back from the States. You leave our home on Saturdays without telling me where you’re going, and come back in tears every time. I can’t not worry about that, Kenma, even if I know you don’t want me to.”

Kenma stares at his lap, at his fists clenched tightly like they could hold himself together while Kuroo pokes and prods at him with his words. He’s at his limit and he can’t push himself to hold on any further.

“Sometimes I turn around, and you’re not there. It scares me, Kenma. Terrifies me. We’ve always walked side by side together, and I’m terrified that one day I’ll wake up to find that you’re gone. That you’re no longer beside me, or even behind me. I can’t even see you anywhere. I don’t want a future like that. My future is you, and if anything happens to you, I–”

“Don’t–” It’s too much. The burden of this love, it’s too heavy for Kenma to bear. The dam in his heart is breaking from all the stress and anxiety pounding against its walls, and by the time he realizes, the waterworks are already flooding down his cheeks, unable to stop.

“Kenma–”

“Don’t. Don’t say anything.”

Kuroo deserves better. He deserves a future with someone who doesn’t cry themselves to sleep at night, a future where he doesn’t have to worry about whether his partner would live to see the next sunrise, where he doesn’t have to stress over the happiness that’s been eluding the both of them since Kenma could ever remember.

Someone who can give Kuroo the love he deserves.

Kenma is nothing of those. He comes with emotional baggage so heavy yet worth nothing in gold, and no matter how hard he tries to get better, to go for therapy and listen to all the advice he could ever absorb, it never seems to work.

One step forward, ten steps back. Every time, every single time after the good times pass, however brief they may be, when the anxiety comes back to haunt him, it always, always feels so much worse than before.

“Kenma, please, talk to me. What’s hurting you?”

He can’t speak. His lips are sealed shut at this point from his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. The ache in his heart is too heavy to bear to the point he’s hunched over himself in pain, eyes buried in the heels of his palms, trembling against his knees as he tries to stop the tears from spilling any further.

“Sweetheart, love,” Kuroo gathers his entire worth of desolation into his arms and tries to reassure him with gentle touches and soft words. His efforts bear no fruit in the face of bitter defeat.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he says, voice cracking from desperation, “did I do something wrong? Tell me, please, I won’t do it again.”

Kenma can only shake his head. Because– because–

Just how do you tell your loved ones that you wanted to die? That in spite of all the unconditional love and affection thrown your way, the care and patience you’re given, you still want to die sometimes?

It would break him. Knowing the truth – that Kenma once sat on a bridge, ready to let go of everything while Kuroo was miles away unaware of everything – it would break Kuroo.

“It’s not you,” Kenma croaks, “never you.”

Kuroo’s big, warm hands cup his wet cheeks. They wipe away the tears gently, and Kenma only wishes they could wipe away the sadness in his heart too.

He loves Kuroo so much, but he can’t bear to see Kuroo suffering together with him.

“Then what is it, sweetheart? What’s hurting you? Let me help you.” Kuroo whispers in return.

But Kenma will not bring him into this. There are battles he has to fight by himself. This is a journey he has to embark on his own.

There is no Kuroo to shelter him from the storm, no Kuroo to hold his hand and guide him through the messy webs of his own mind. To Kenma, therapy is such an intimate thing that he cannot find it in himself to open up the unpleasant side of himself to Kuroo, to let Kuroo witness the ugly side of his brain. Every time he confronts a distant memory, an undesired emotion, the triggers that explode in his own face, there is no one except his therapist and the four white walls caging him in to witness the ugly tears rolling down his cheeks, the gasps for air he takes as he pushes, swims, fights, drowns and sinks and kicks and tries, tries tries tries _tries_ so hard to catch that metaphorical glimpse of light in his hands so that he can finally break past the ocean surface to breathe on his own.

But despite it all, Kenma still finds himself drowning in his own despair, and he cannot pull Kuroo down to drown with him.

In the aftermath their fight, the silence that’s left behind is cold and frosty to the touch. Kuroo’s hands fall helplessly to his sides as Kenma extricates himself from his hold, knobbly knees leading him to the bathroom where he washes away the remnants of his tears and sorrows.

_Deep breaths,_ Takeda’s words come to mind. He forces himself to conduct the breathing exercises his therapist always reminds him about, trying his best to push the anxiety and sadness back into a chest in his heart and lock it in there forever.

By the time Kenma manages to compose himself as best as he can and reenter the living room (albeit reluctantly), Kuroo is no longer seated on the couch. He’s in the kitchen pouring two glasses of water, one of which he holds out to Kenma, waiting patiently, wordlessly for the latter to take it.

Sobfests are exhausting. Kenma has run numerous cry-marathons, far too many to count, to know that his energy reserves are completely drained, too empty for him to provide any verbal response to whatever questions Kuroo would pose.

But still, he takes a seat by the dinner table, glass of water half empty before him, and waits for Kuroo to lay out the next word.

The afternoon sun breaks through the window, converges and refracts off the glass of water before him. The sunbeams scatter and break into a million tiny rainbow hexagons around around the glass.

Kenma doesn’t think his heart can break any more than that.

They remain like that for what seems to be an eternity – Kenma seated closest to the kitchen door, head bowed and dissecting the shadows on the table with his eyes so hard he could burn a hole through the wood at this point, while Kuroo leans against the kitchen counter by the sink wordlessly, arms crossed and lips pressed into a sad, grim line.

Kenma has known Kuroo for so long that he can guess the thoughts running through his partner’s mind now. Kuroo is most likely weighing the pros and cons of pursuing this matter further, whether he ought to continue pushing for answers, or if it’s better to retreat and let things slide under the rug for now.

Sun Tzu’s Art of War, the Art of Cross-Examination by Francis Wellman; it’s all tactics and strategy that Kenma knows Kuroo has picked up over the years to be the successful litigator that he is today. He plans ahead, observes the court scene, and conquers the war.

But truth be told, in a fight like this, there is no one that will emerge from this room as the winner.

In the end, it’s Kuroo who is the first to break. A quiet, sad sigh slips past his lips as he gets off the counter and makes his way towards Kenma. His warm hand slides across Kenma’s cheek, gently pulling the latter in as he presses a soft kiss to the crown of Kenma’s head.

“Get some rest. You’ve had a long day.” Is all Kuroo says quietly before walking out of the kitchen, leaving Kenma alone with his thoughts and a glass of half-empty water for companionship.

Despite the non-existent distance they share between them in this tiny apartment, Kuroo has never felt any further than before from him. Kenma does not regret keeping his thoughts, his secrets from his partner, but still, the guilt carves itself a home in his heart and stays.

It is the one memory that etches itself into his heart and soul and continues to haunt him night after night, where Kuroo rolls over to the other end of the bed, out of his touch, out of his reach.

Kuroo’s heartbroken expression on the night of their fight spits itself all over Kenma’s dreams for many weeks to come.

;

_“So how’d it go?”_

“He cried, Yaku. He cried so hard, but so quietly in my arms that I thought he was going to explode from all the pain he’s been keeping inside himself.  
He won’t tell me what’s wrong, won’t tell me what’s hurting him.  
Why won’t he let me in?”

_“Have you ever considered, Kuroo, that maybe he’s not happy here, and for that reason, maybe you should let him go?”_

;

Here is a recount of a conversation between a patient, one Kozume Kenma, and his therapist, Takeda Ittetsu, on a gloomy Saturday afternoon. The patient has just finished weeping his heart out, something about the good times and the bad, and the therapist puts his pen down and starts to speak.

“Happiness is only temporary, but so is the sadness. You have to move forward to survive. In order to move forward, you have to let go of the past. You cannot let the fear of the future dictate how you live in the present, Kenma-kun.

“Open your eyes, and look around you, see what you still have with you. Don’t let it slip away.

“You once sat at Nihonbashi bridge, ready to let it all come to an end. You could have chosen to leave everything behind, but you didn’t. Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it, Kenma-kun, what was the thought that stopped you from ending everything that night?”

There is a long pause. Kenma travels back in time and revisits that night he sat on the ledge, feet dangling helplessly in the air. He backtracks, and forces himself to confront his demons, because he knows Takeda won’t let him go until he spills the truth out in the open for the room to hear.

“I wanted to live. I wanted to see Kuro. I didn’t want him to come home to a funeral. I wanted to make him happy. But he’s not happy now, he’s sad all the time too, because of me. I don’t know how to help him not be sad, because I just can’t find it in myself to be happy all the damn time.”

_I am afraid that I’ve become a burden to him._

“Have you ever thought that maybe Kuroo has the same thoughts as you?”

Kenma blinks.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he’s sad because he doesn’t know how to help you too. Maybe he doesn’t need you to be happy all the time, that it’s okay for you to be sad. Maybe he just wants to know how to help, so that he can continue being there for you.”

“But there are so many things wrong with me. It’s not fair for him to take on all of this. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Kenma-kun,” Takeda clears his throat and fixes him with a firm gaze, but not unkindly, “it’s not up to you to decide for him how he feels about all this, is it? Have you ever asked him if he thought being there for you was a burden to him?”

Kenma stares at his hands. Ones that Kuroo has held and kissed countless times before, even when the inside of his wrists were etched with scars and caked with dried blood that did nothing to override the pain in his heart.

Kuroo is still here with him, and has loved him through all the times when Kenma felt so ugly that he couldn’t even bear to love himself.

“No,” Kenma exhales shakily, letting out a breath he never knew he was holding, “I never asked.”

Takeda smiles.

“Then it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? If you find it difficult to tell him about what you’ve been doing all this while, about how he can help you feel better, why don’t you show him instead?”

;

Kenma hates Saturdays. He hates them because it means going back to a room with four walls listening to him bare his soul raw, to witness his struggles with depression and anxiety until he’s beaten to the ground again, defeated. It means leaving his home and making the uphill trek to a place and time where he might get better at managing his mental health, even though said place and time may not even exist right from the start.

Today, Saturday means it’s time to try again, to see if this time round, he can conquer his fears and continue walking through the dark, even if he has to do it alone for now.

And Kenma is going to start by reaching out to the one person who’s always loved him, who he knows will love him until the end of time.

Kuroo is at home today. He has not left for the office even though Kenma thought he would, just to escape the suffocating tension clouding the entire apartment for the past few weeks. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, papers and documents laid out before him, but he has not moved nor turned a single page for the past twenty minutes. At this point, Kenma is wringing his fingers silly, ignoring the ache in his knuckles in favour of quelling the thunderous beat of his heart as he says–

“Kuro.”

Kuroo looks up from the thick stack of document in his hands. His tired eyes sweep through the grim line of Kenma’s mouth, the eyebrows knitted together anxiously, and his heart instantly aches for the distress his partner is currently going through. He hates that he’s a contributing factor to this strain they have between them now, hates that he’s run out of options to fix things, and the last resort he has left, staring back at him in his face, is to maybe let go of the person whom he cherishes and loves most in this whole wide world.

At the hallway, by the kitchen door, Kenma steals one glance at him and stares back at his clenched fists again. At least Kuroo isn’t looking at him like he’s strategizing the best way to make a hostile witness fuck up on the stand during cross-examination. All Kenma needs to do now is to come clean.

_You don’t have to tell him everything in one go. Some things are better told without words._

“Do you trust me, Kuro?”

“With all my life.” Kuroo replies without a beat to lose. He’s put the papers down on the table at this point, giving Kenma his full and undivided attention.

They’re both eager to put this episode behind them. Fighting is exhausting, and they both rather spend their energy on better things than to continue this pointless argument, especially when they rely on each other for comfort most of the time.

So, Kenma takes the leap and falls. He has nothing to lose. He tells himself so.

“It’s Saturday. I’m going out. Somewhere. Do– do you want to come along?”

_Let me show you what I cannot say._

The tension in the room breaks. Kuroo’s gaze soften as he gets up from his chair, crosses the distance between them in two quick strides and comes to a stop before Kenma. He takes tiny hands into his own to stop Kenma from twisting his fingers into painful shapes, never flinching at the iron grip his partner keeps between their linked fingers, not once.

“Of course, Kenma. If you’re okay with it, I’d love to come.”

The road to Takeda’s office is filled with silence. It’s not the frosty, frigid silence looming over them for the past two weeks, that much has changed, but Kenma can still sense the hesitation and tension in Kuroo’s eyes as they navigate through the afternoon crowd on a Saturday at the train station. Usually, Kuroo is the one to herd him to their next destination, his taller disposition shielding him from the jostling and effectively parting the crowd to open up a path for them to tread to wherever they’re supposed to go.

This time, Kenma takes the lead instead, and Kuroo seems a little lost as to what to do. His fingers twitch nervously in the pockets of his coat. He’s painfully unsure of himself, but still, he puts up a brave face and follows Kenma wherever the latter goes. Somewhere along the journey, Kenma reaches out to thread their fingers together, and Kuroo’s lips quirk upwards in relief. The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and for the first time in weeks, he can finally breathe again.

They’ve got this.

_I’ve got this,_ Kenma repeats to himself, as he leads Kuroo through a quiet street in Minato-ku, until they come to a stop before a signboard directing the public to the second floor of a row of shops.

Kuroo’s not stupid. He’s been piecing together stray pieces of evidence from the past week in his head throughout the entire journey, hypothesizing the possible outcomes Kenma wants to show instead of tell him.

But when the signboard for Takeda’s Counselling Services appears before him, he still can’t help but blink in surprise, stunned to his very core.

“I’ve been going for therapy lately.” Kenma clears his throat, fidgeting nervously beside him. Kuroo looks down at his partner, perplexed. Kenma meets his gaze head on, ready to face his fears.

“I wanted to be better, for you. So that you don’t have to take care of me anymore. I don’t want to be a burden to you anymore. It’s still a work in progress, though I don’t think it’s coming along well lately so far.”

“Oh Kenma. Kenma, Kenma, Kenma…” Kuroo chants his name softly, eyes closed as his lips lets out a breath of relief.

When Kuroo’s arms wrap themselves tightly around his shoulders, it’s all Kenma can do to stop himself from breaking down. His entire body melts into the embrace, hands reaching out to grasp at soft cashmere like a lifeline, unwilling to let go.

There are many words between them that have yet to be said, that ought to be said, but Kenma figures that it can wait, this is enough progress for now.

“You are never a burden to me.”

Kuroo’s words are quiet but rough with emotion, lingering by the shell of Kenma’s ear. These words find their way to Kenma’s heart, inscribed into tender flesh with the sheer force of Kuroo’s unconditional, compassionate love, and remain etched in his memory as a reminder for the many years to come.

“I love you so much. I will always want to take care of you, for as long as you will let me.” Kuroo presses his lips against the crown of Kenma’s head before lifting his face, warm palms framing Kenma’s damp cheeks to pepper gentle, loving kisses across pale skin.

Kenma laughs wetly, harsh breaths turning into hiccups, until he starts to cry.

_I am loved,_ he tells himself, _I am worthy of this love. Even with my imperfections, my flaws, I am worthy of being loved._

;

“I wanted to die. When you weren’t around, I went to Nihonbashi bridge at 3 o’clock in the middle of the night. I sat on the ledge and wanted to jump so badly. I almost did. I didn’t even think about calling you then. I didn’t want to. So when you came back, I felt so guilty and ashamed that I didn’t know how to face you, so I avoided you.”

No amount of time or nerves of steel could ever prepare him for the broken sob that escapes out of Kuroo’s lips. His expression cycles rapidly through a myriad of emotions – from shock, to horror and panic, and finally, to grief. Instantly, trembling hands reach out to grip Kenma’s shoulders tightly, caging him and pulling him close against a heaving chest.

“You’re here.” Kuroo gasps.

“Yes.” At this point, Kenma doesn’t know whether the tears staining the front of Kuroo’s sweater are his own or Kuroo’s. But it doesn’t matter, because they are both crying anyway, Kuroo with his harsh sobs, Kenma with his silent weeps, and Kuroo’s arms still hold him tightly against his chest like he’s holding onto the very last lifeline he has, never wanting to let go.

“I’m so glad, Kenma. I’m so, so glad you’re still here, _alive._ ”

“I’m here. I am. I will be.”

They are here – crying, breathing, stumbling, but still together, and what matters most is that they are alive to witness the tiny miracles life graces them on this journey, glittering in the dark along the way.

;

Today, the waves on the shoreline lap at his feet as he makes his way across the shore. The sand beneath his bare feet is layered upon years and years of his anxiety and fears. Each crunch his feet makes against each grain of sand is a symbol that he’s still fighting, still moving forward against the unforgiving current crashing past his ankles. It is still dark, dim, he can’t see clearly where he’s going so he stumbles sometimes, falls, chokes on mouthfuls of salty seawater and balks at the blood trickling down from his scraped knees, but he gets up again and keeps going.

This time, he raises his hands blindly into the open, into the darkness before him. He trusts himself to find what he’s been looking for all this while, and true enough, warm familiar hands are there for him to grab and hold, waiting for him all this time. As their fingertips touch and intertwine, Kenma watches in quiet wonder as his partner’s smile lights up the sky for the world to see.

The sun rises.

Kenma reaches out to hold it in his palms, close to his heart.

;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder to all of us that recovery is not linear. You are not your depression, nor your anxiety. You are worthy of love and care, please always remember that. Kenma, the tiny bean is just learning to accept this. 
> 
> Some of these are drawn from my own experiences with both anxiety, the sad times, and therapy. I am sorry if any of it was bad. This was supposed to be a short blurb of word vomit but it ballooned to what it is today ;_; the more I reread the draft, the more I hated it so I decided to post this before I do sth silly like banish it to the void of irretrievable word dumps u___u
> 
> Please let me know if I missed tagging any triggers. If you’re still here after this long blurb of sad gloop, thank you for hanging on and reading until the end. 
> 
> Title of this fic is from the description of [Tony Anderson’s “Ariana”](https://youtu.be/ciqRQJqfQBA). It is a beautiful song. [“Daughters”](https://youtu.be/pznEYC9dvCE) was also a song I listened to many times while trying to write sense into this fic. If you understand mandarin/enjoy mandarin songs, pls do give [Mayday’s 温柔](https://youtu.be/7h9uEUvQjcs) a go too. I think the lyrics depict my take on Kuroo’s perspective throughout this entire fic perfectly. 
> 
> (also, i like the fact that the title & ending of this fic unintentionally came together in a full circle. things like these rly remind me why i like writing haha)
> 
> thank you for reading!


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